


your ex-lover is dead

by nni



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 01:55:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3311264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nni/pseuds/nni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Old habits die hard, like some relationships.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. a phone call i'd rather not receive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the best part of what has happened is the part i must have missed//  
> is this the way a toy feels when its batteries run dry?

It was a mutual break up that neither of them had really wanted. But it was for the best, right? Peter hated Wade’s job on principle, and it was always dragging him off to god knows where to do god knows what. Then there was the age gap (well.. near immortality counted as an age gap right?), and the suicidal tendencies and the voices and the crazy rambling and the general..Wadeness. None of that was good for their relationship, now was it? That’s right, Peter. Focus on his faults. There has to be some good in this whole ordeal, after all, despite the fact that the thousand little shards of his heart were worming through his veins, leaving him bleeding and broken and damn it all that arc reactors only worked for metal. This was stupid. So embarrassingly, ridiculously stupid. It’d been weeks. He should be well over the mercenary and under someone else by now. Someone much more normal. More sane. More…anything. His fingers drummed against his chest as he lay there, staring at the ceiling, wondering if Wade was thinking of him, as torn apart as he was. Hoped for it, actually. But that damn healing factor was probably good for more than just the physical. Wade had never really been the most openly emotional person, even on his best day, and Peter had grown to accept that. He genuinely seemed to care for Pete, though. And he’d stuck around, so that had to count for something. Well, for a while at least.

He sighed heavily, wiping at his bleary eyes, trying to clear his mind. The clock next to his bed read 3AM. Perfect. Another sleepless night, all thanks to that asshole. He groaned in frustration and buried his head in the pillow. Maybe he could suffocate his mind. Just those thoughts, just enough to sleep. No..of course not. That wasn’t how these things worked. Before he was really aware of what was going on, he heard the dial tone in his ear, releasing a startled noise and nearly dropping his phone as he ended the call. Thank god Wade hadn’t picked up yet. Maybe he would just ignore it. It had been instinctual, muscle memory.  He used to dial that number all the time on nights like these, when he couldn’t sleep and his ex (wow was that still fucking weird) was off on a job somewhere. He’d even sort of grown used to the way Wade would answer, midfight, and try to sooth him to sleep despite the awful wails and screams and pleas for mercy rolling in the background. He’d learned to tune it out, so that it almost became a sort of pleasant white noise somewhere along the lines, and—oh, fuck. There it was. His phone lit up with that old familiar ringtone that he should really get around to changing. He stared for a moment, trying to swallow the lung that had securely lodged itself in his throat  (or maybe that was his liver, it was hard to tell when all your insides felt like mush) before hesitantly reaching out to answer.

“Hello?” His voice was thin and cracked with nerves and sadness and maybe just a hint of desperation that he hoped to every god that came to mind could be read as grogginess and lack of sleep. It was true, at least. He sucked in a deep breath, eyes shut tight, waiting.

There was a long pause, long enough that he sort of started to hope that Wade had hung up, or that he didn’t actually return the call and it was just a pocket dial, or something, anything-  
But then his phone fizzed to life, and Wade’s voice came crackling to his ears. “Hey,” was the response. Flat and cold and singular, just like Wade could be, heh. Peter waited for a moment, hoping that maybe his.. that Wade would continue, but all that came was the sound of his heavy breathing. From what? Anger, a job, panic, sadness? Pete was almost afraid to ask.

“Um..” he started, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat and rubbing at his face. I couldn’t sleep so I-” so you what? Did something stupid? Way to go, Parker, A+ in coping. “Force of habit, sorry, I’ll let you go.”

“No.” He was about to hang up, but Wade’s response gave him pause. Maybe he actually wanted to talk. Maybe he’d missed Peter just as much as Peter would never admit to having missed him. He didn’t have to call him back after all, right? He could’ve just ignored it, acted like nothing happened and then maybe they could both finally move on, let go and realize it really was over. But instead, here they were, unsure of what to say. “It’s fine, I can help. Try, at least.” The soft clang of metal in the background made Peter think he must have been on the job, or just gotten off of one, at least.

It was his turn to be quiet for a beat, staring at the patch of light on his ceiling that slanted in through window from the streetlight in the alley outside his apartment. He inhaled deep and sat up, his stomach churning and he closed his eyes again against the nausea. “Thanks,” he said and tried to manage a small laugh. This was almost harder than not talking. It reminded him of all the reasons they’d been together in the first place. How fundamentally he was against everything that Wade was, but that stupid gun for hire turned out to be everything he needed too. How they bonded over dumb video games and cheesy movies, weekly meet ups for Chinese take out or pizza or TexMex (Wade’s favourite), how underneath all that bullshit exterior he was actually a really caring guy and maybe that was why he acted the way he did, he he was there for Peter when Gwen.. well, how he’d been there for him through a lot of things, really. “It’s weird, I know, I’m sorry, I just.. habit,” he said, offering a shrug that the other couldn’t see. “And who else would be up at three in the morning?” He actually did manage a smile that time, feeble as it was.

“Got me there, Petey,” Wade said, and Peter thought he could hear the faint smile in his voice too. His own grew just a bit when Wade called him ‘Petey,’ too. Nobody else could get away with that, but from him? It was special. “And quit apologizing, dammit.”

“Hah, yeah..” He trailed off, almost apologizing again for apologizing too much, but he could only imagine what that would lead to. So instead, he cleared his throat and tried to sound more cheerful, which is pretty difficult when you’re drained in every way possible. “We should.. we should get together sometime.”

No. No, no, no, and no with a hefty helping of no. That was probably an awful idea. He was still clearly nowhere near over the guy, and he somehow doubted that seeing him again would help. But that was what Gwen had suggested when they had broken up, try to be friends again and move on and god he really needed to stop thinking about his exes. But mending things, being friends, getting on with your life, that was the mature thing to do right? Not holding a grudge and never speaking and becoming bitter.

Wade grunted, but other than that there was another long silence. It felt long at least, but Peter was being patient. It was a stupid and sudden suggestion, after all, and he was fighting every urge to start rambling on and take it back and make Wade forget he’d ever even mentioned it, but no. He had to give him the option, let him make his choice, and if it sucked, well, he’d gotten them both into this mess with his big dumb mouth so that was all on him and he could take it.

“That’d be, ah, nice. I think,” he finally replied, and Peter let out a long sigh of relief, a breath he’d subconsciously been holding for he could only guess how long, at that point. Every second felt like hours. “Coffee or something, yeah?”

“Yeah!” Peter had maybe sounded a bit too eager there, swallowed and tried to tone it down a bit because really he shouldn’t be that excited at the idea, and hadn’t expected to be. But, well, the more they sat in mostly silence the more he remembered all the things he’d liked about their relationship, against his better judgment, and the more he’d started to hope that Wade would say yes. He licked his lips and continued, “Yeah, coffee sounds good. That little place on 8th?” Their old favorite; he had never liked their coffee much but Wade had always insisted that it was the best in the city. And they did actually have a decent chai latte.

“Sounds good, Pete.” The more they talked the easier he found it, the more the sadness became an undercurrent to letting himself enjoy the moment, but he had to remind himself that things weren’t the same, and that maybe they never would be, but at least there was hope. At least maybe they could be friends again. “I’m free tomorrow if, yknow, that works for you.”

Peter chuckled a little, too tired for full blown laughter but enough that he got an amused puff of air in return. “Make it tomorrow afternoon and you’ve got a deal. At this rate I don’t know if I could pry myself out of bed before.. god who even knows,” he half joked, but it was true. He hadn’t had a decent sleep in so long, but he could feel his eyelids getting heavier.

“Deal,” Wade agreed, and Peter didn’t even try to hold back a smile that time. Thank god Wade couldn’t actually see. “Just ah, text me when or somethin’ when you’re up then. I got nothin’ all day so..”

“Text you. Right. Good, I’ll um.. yeah, I’ll do that.” As much as he hated to, he could feel himself slumping back down, drifting in and out of consciousness, and he knew he had to say goodbye. For the night, at least. It was amazing how they could barely talk and Wade was still able to lull him to sleep. Well, maybe pathetic was actually the word for it, but he was getting pretty tired of maybes and pushed that thought to the back of his mind. “Think your magic worked,” he slurred, closing his eyes as his head hit the pillow. “Think I gotta sleep now, kay? I’ll text you in the.. whenever.” His words were little more than mumbles, pretty much inaudible at that point, but Wade seemed to get the point.

“Yeah, whenever,” he chuffed. “Night, Petey.” But Peter didn’t quite catch that, or the bloop of his phone as Wade ended the call. He was out, hard, dead to the world and getting plenty of rest for his date. Not date. His um.. For tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> work title based on the song "your ex-lover is dead" by stars  
> chapter title and summary based on "guernica" by brand new (ps never listen to this song and think about spideypool or you will cry for six days)


	2. falling in love at a coffee shop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I never knew just what it was about this old coffee shop I loved so much.

Somehow, Peter managed to pull his ass out of bed right about the crack of noon. He’d slept soundly through the night, deep and unmoving, and woke up to a nice puddle of drool on his pillow. It wasn’t until he was about halfway through a long, hot shower (which was more like standing under the water like a zombie) that he remembered the conversation from last night. He cursed under his breath and splashed a handful of water on his face, wincing because fuck that was hot. At first he thought that maybe he’d dreamed the whole thing, that maybe he’d fallen asleep after he’d accidentally made the call. But no, of course not. Even as he slung a towel around his hips and made his way to the nightstand to check his phone, he knew what he would find. And of course, there it was: a rather long incoming phone call from one Wade Wilson. The temptation was strong to just put the phone away, delete the log and pretend it really was just a dream, but.. this would be good for him. For both of them. Maybe they could get some closure and be friends and, you know, be adults about the whole thing.

He rolled his tongue in his mouth for a moment, thumb hovering over the text icon on his home screen, before finally giving in and pressing down. Call him pathetic or whatever else, but he had never deleted their thread. Couldn’t bring himself to. So he scrolled down the short way until he saw the name he was looking for. Just a quick text, “sorry. long night. long shower. i’m alive,” and breathed out a sigh of relief as he hit send. There, it was done, he could stop worrying. A little bit, at least. It didn’t take long before his phone buzzed with an answer, and he was on his way to the coffee shop.

Of course he was there before Wade; he always was. Punctuality was never one of Wade’s strong suits, though at the back of his mind Peter couldn’t help but think that maybe he could’ve stepped up his game for the occasion. He’d already gotten his chai latte and had finally gotten it cool enough to drink by the time Wade bothered showing up.

“Hey,” he said, downing a sip of his obviously too hot coffee and trying not to wince. He was dressed down today, not in all the Deadpool get up, since Peter had made it pretty clear that he would not be attending this get together as the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Still, most of his skin was covered, as much as possible, but in the middle of a frigid New York winter that didn’t attract too much attention. “Glad you could make it, Sleeping Beauty.”

Wade was one to talk; he was always sleeping til who knows when during the day, keeping ungodly hours into the night. But, as much as he hated to admit it, Peter had kind of missed this. The teasing and coffee dates and even the waiting. Well, that last part maybe not so much. His hands fidgeted with his cup before he took another sip to try and wash down those feelings. He didn’t need that mess. As he pulled the cup away from his lips, he rolled his eyes and licked at the bit of foam that stayed behind. “Yeah, coulda slept even longer, apparently,” he teased. “Late as usual, I see.”

“Gotta keep you interested somehow, huh?” Wade added that signature roguish wink, and Peter almost fell for it, too. Again. He debated telling him that it probably would’ve been more effective to show up early if that was the case, but he didn’t want to give him too much hope. He wasn’t here for Wade to grovel at his feet (though that might be kinda nice) and to fall back into their old dynamic, despite what the butterflies in his stomach might say. “Doin’ pretty well so far, I think. Got you here, didn’t I?”

“I may not remember much of last night, but I’m pretty sure this was my idea, Wade,” Peter rebutted. He smirked and they both took a sip of their drinks, Peter trying hard not to let his eyes linger on his ex for too long. Wade, on the other hand, made very little effort to cover the fact that he was staring him down. He never really had cared much about subtlety, though. Peter could see that devilish look in his eye that told him that Wade was just itching for the chance to make some comment about what else could’ve happened last night, but he answered with a glare of his own and that seemed to shut up. For now, at least. It was only a matter of time before Wade let his mouth slip, even if he was on his best behavior. “And I can change my mind at any time,” he added, nodding toward the door for emphasis, but there was a grin on his lips.

Wade gulped down another swig of coffee and waved in dismissal. “Yeah, yeah. But you won’t. You missed me too much,” he singsonged, and Peter shot him another glare and hoped his cheeks hadn’t turned too pink. He was forced once again with the realization that yes, he really had missed this idiot, but he couldn’t let him know that. At least, not how true it actually was.

“Okay, okay, if we’re gonna do this we need some boundaries.” He was teasing, mostly. But on the other hand, maybe it would be a good way to keep them both in check. Keep Wade from saying and doing all those stupid things he used to like so much. Make it just a little easier to keep that distance.

He got a scoff for that one, and a disbelieving look, but Wade played along. “Boundaries?” he said, laying on the sarcasm just a little thick, there. “Like what?”

“Well, first off, none of your silly nicknames like ‘Sleeping Beauty,” he replied, complete with air quotes. “And for that matter, no calling me pretty, or cute, or beautiful, or any of your.. you know, usual shit.” He was making a game of it, but it did make him feel a little better.

“Then don’t be fuckin’ cute.” Wade was so deadpan that Peter wasn’t sure for a minute whether he should laugh or not, but he didn’t really have much choice in the matter when a chuckle escaped with a mind of it’s own. After another beat of that flat expression, Wade’s face cracked into an exaggerated pout. “And I love nicknames! You can’t hold me to that one,” he argued, trying to be stern and pointing a finger in Peter’s direction.

Peter could feel all those stupid warm feelings flooding through him again, and he stuttered on a cough, fingers dancing over the side of his cup. He was having such a nice time, felt better than he had for a while now, anxieties and all, and he didn’t want to kill the mood, but.. He had to get it off his chest. It would make them both feel better, right?

“Look, Wade, I-” he was cut off by Wade throwing his hand up, interjecting before he could finish the thought.

“I know. I know, not here to get back together and whatever. Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna try.” Peter’s chest swelled a little, and ached all at once. He was flattered, glad even, that Wade was still interested. Heartbroken that they were even in this mess, that he had to keep his distance. And miserable because he sort of didn’t want to.

He nodded and tried a little laugh, but it wasn’t much more than a puff of air. “You keep trying, buddy.” It was sarcastic. Mostly. Part of him wanted Wade to wear him down and convince him that it was all still worth it. And maybe it was, you know. If they both still.. well, they’d obviously both felt something before right? And it seemed pretty clear that they did now, and dammit if that was the case then they should be able to make it work, the deserved it. But he was still so tentative, so unsure. They’d broken up for a reason right? God, they’d just started talking again and he was already stressing himself out, worrying about what could and might and should be. Relax, Parker. Take it easy. Enjoy yourself.

And he did. They spent a long time at that coffee shop, talking about the fun they had and reliving inside jokes. Reminiscing about the stupid things Wade had done, or how Peter had made a complete idiot of himself the first time they’d met. Most of the day had passed and he’d almost forgotten all of his concerns, getting lost in remembering how good it felt when Wade would make him laugh, or the fact that he didn’t quite mind when Wade would pick on him like he did when it was anyone else. Fuck, he thought to himself. He had you in deep. Wade was in the middle of reenacting one of Peter’s less proud moments when he’d managed to get his web shooters jammed, and they backfired, and well it was really just embarrassing for everyone (okay, mostly just for him), when he glanced at his phone and noticed the time.

“Wade.. Wade,” he interrupted, waving his empty cup in front of the mercenary’s face. “I think they’re trying to close.” He emphasized his point by gesturing around the empty shop and to the door, where their hours were listed in white against the clear glass. The employees were behind the counter, tidying up and preparing for the next day.

“Oh, uhhh right, right,” Wade replied, blinking and looking around the shop, hands still midair and grabbing weakly at imaginary webs. “Walk you home?”

Peter never drove anywhere, and Wade knew it. In New York City it was just impractical. The streets were always slow and congested. Most places he needed to go were in walking distance from his apartment, and for the things that weren’t, well, he had other methods. Being a “superhero” did have some perks, even if half the city was against you. He was hesitant to accept the offer; what if he did something stupid like inviting Wade in for the night? Okay, stop. It’s just a walk home. He’s done it a million times before, and if they kept hanging out, he would probably do it a million more times. But it was still all so new and raw and uncertain, and Peter was always overthinking. After a moment, he agreed, and they headed out for his place, Peter thanking the baristas as they left. He’d made sure to leave a hefty tip; they were probably more than any employee should have to deal with for so long.

It was freezing, and they ducked their heads against the cold, zipped their coats and bundled up as warmly as they could. Peter walked a little closer to Wade than he would’ve liked, but the heat between them helped. Not much, but enough to convince himself that that was a pretty good reason. The walk to his apartment wasn’t very long, and they spent most of it in silence, though he thought that that was partly from the cold and partly that they had both managed to wear themselves down in the past few hours. When they finally arrived, he turned to Wade and pulled his scarf below his chin, swallowing before he spoke.

“Thanks,” he said. “For the coffee, and the walk home, and the, ya know, catching up.” His hands were in his pockets, but he shrugged slightly, like he wished he could offer more but he didn’t trust his tongue to follow his head over his heart.

“No problem,” Wade replied, nodding and grinning. It always managed to seem sly, that smile, even when it was innocent. Mostly innocent, at least. Peter wondered if it was possible for him to smile without any hidden meaning. They were close still, and he could feel the magnetic pull of old habits drawing his lips up toward Wade’s, and that was when he decided it was time for him to go.

“We’ll have to do this again some time, yeah? Call me, or-or text me, or whatever.” He cleared his throat and glanced downward, not for too long before his eyes flicked back up to Wade, who nodded again in agreement.

“Soon,” he promised. “I’ll give ya a ring and save you the embarrassment of this being your idea twice in a row.” He snickered and let out a puff of breath, a ball of mist forming in front of his face. Peter grinned and was about to make a comeback, really he was, but Wade had turned and left already, which probably made it easier on them both. He turned and drew the keys to his apartment from his pocket, fumbling for just a minute with cold hands before he managed to enter the building and make it up the stairs to his floor.

Once he was safely in his apartment, Peter headed straight for the bedroom, flopped face-first into his mattress and exhaled deeply. “Fuck.” His chest was tight and stomach swimming, heart pounding and mind reeling. God, what had he gotten himself into. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title and summary based on the song "falling in love at a coffee shop" by landon pigg


	3. lazy lover, find a place for me again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aren't you sick of sleeping alone?

Wade had actually kept his promise, and the next time they hung out, it was at his suggestion. Well, actually, he’d suggested the very next day, but Peter was a semi-functioning member of society so they had to wait a couple of days for his schedule to clear, between his day job and his night job (was it still technically a job if he didn’t get paid?). It worked out though, probably for the best. The fact that it had been Wade to make the invitation made him feel less desperate, less needy and pathetic and like some clingy pissbaby, which definitely improved his mental state. Somewhat. It definitely helped, too, that he got some time in between. Not enough to make him certain or confident or.. anything, really, about the situation, but at least it gave him a chance to cool his head and his chest and all those other parts of him that Wade was so good at getting hot and bothered. Seriously, fuck that guy. ..Er, well, don’t. That’s the opposite of what he was going for. Yes.

He’d kind of wanted it to be another public affair; private settings are so intimate and he still couldn’t trust himself. Or Wade, for that matter, but he found that between the two of them, he somehow trusted the merc more. The problem was, there was nothing public to do. Not for them anyway, not for people trying become comfortable with each other again and figure out how to be.. anything really, anything but what they were. Clubs were too loud, movies were too quiet, and dinner felt too personal and impersonal all at once. So, there they were, sitting on Wade’s couch with this strange amount of distance between them, beating the shit out of each other in a round of Mortal Kombat (although Wade had wanted to play Marvel vs. Capcom, but Peter had to burst that bubble by reminding him that that was not, actually, a real game) and eating Chinese take out.

It felt so weird, so, so weird. This was how they’d sat maybe the first time Peter- no, not Peter, not Wade- the first time Spider-Man had ever found himself in Deadpool’s apartment, before there were names and faces and anything other than masks and spandex and blood and exhaustion. Before they were even really friends, and definitely before they’d been anything more. He could remember sitting there even just a month ago, playing the same game but laughing, telling Wade there was no way that he could still beat him with one arm around his shoulders and Peter halfway in his lap, watching Wade try so hard and utterly fail to prove him wrong. His smile faltered, only slightly, and he tried not to let on to the tightness in his chest because he shouldn’t want that back. Dammit, Parker, pull yourself together. He was vaguely aware of the curses and pounding feet and frantically working thumbs to his side, but he had learned a long time ago how to reduce Wade’s ramblings and inward conversations to white noise. Maybe he should’ve been paying a little more attention than he had been, though, keep his mind occupied. Plus, all of this internal moping was throwing off his game, and he was not about to stroke Wade’s ego by letting him win. With his head back in the game, it wasn’t long before he took his opponent down, a massive comeback that left Wade with what was quite possibly the biggest pout Peter had ever seen grace his lips.

“We both know I’d win in a real fight,” he grumbled, letting the controller spill from his hands and clatter to the floor as he sank back into the couch. Wilson could be such a whiner, and coming from someone of his size with a voice that gruff, it was absolutely absurd. Almost as absurd as what he’d just said.

Peter couldn’t stifle a chuckle at that, and god it felt good to be more relaxed, despite the ever-present nagging in the back of his head, and the occasional churning of his stomach. Progress. This was progress. Deep breaths. “You’re kidding, right? You’ve got to be kidding.”  He quirked a brow, mouth still hanging slightly open in a half laugh, half scoff of disbelief. And he could’ve sworn he saw Wade’s eyes flicker to his lips for just a brief moment, the tension that he’d been trying to convince himself was all in his head seeming to wind a little tighter, and he tried to shove it down, packed neatly away with the rest of the things he didn’t want to deal with right now, thank you. “I’d put you to shame in a heartbeat, and you know it.”

“Wanna test that theory? Healing factor, remember, Spidey?” Wade crooned, wagging his finger. Peter knew he could put up a good fight, and it wasn’t just the regeneration. The guy was skilled. Hands down, as much as anyone might disagree with his uh.. profession, he knew what he was doing and how to do it well. That was how he managed to get on his pay grade, although you’d never know it from looking around his apartment aside from a few expensive commodities, like the unnecessarily huge flatscreen TV and the slimline XBox 360. No, not the latest console. ‘Fuck that X-Bone bullshit,’ were his exact words, if Peter remembered correctly.

“I wouldn’t have to kill you to win, Wade.” He rolled his eyes and sat back on the couch, crossing his arms over his chest and trying very, very hard not to glance at Wade’s hand just inches from him and how nice it might feel if it were just a little closer, draped around him again. Just for a minute. Just for- no. Stop. He had to stop doing this to himself or he’d end up worse than before. Wade was still looking at him expectantly, like he thought the answer might be ‘yes’ and that they’d have an all out brawl in his apartment. He wasn’t a very patient guy, most of the time anyway, and it must’ve taken Peter a bit longer to answer than he would’ve liked because he moved his hand from the back of the couch and nudged him gently, head tilting forward slightly to coax a reply. That was when it hit him, and he could feel himself tense slightly at the realization that this was the first time they’d really touched, had any sort of actual physical contact since they’d started talking again. Okay, yeah, they hadn’t really been talking again for all that long, but.. not even a nice-to-see-you-again hug, or a been-a-while handshake, or a ruffle of his hair like Wade had always used to do when he had done something cute or stupid or both. The thought made him uncomfortable in a squirming sort of way, shifting his position slightly in the hopes that it would help and hugging the pillow in his lap just barely closer to him as he cleared his throat. It was decided; as fun as a little sparring could be, he didn’t want that to be how they got back into the swing of things. Set a precedence for violence, yeah, that sounds like a really healthy way to rekindle a r- ..a friendship. “No, Wade, Jesus, I’m not gonna fight you. Not now.”

Wade let out a little sigh, like he was disappointed but not exactly surprised, and scrunched his nose in that way that he had always insisted made him look like a steamrolled shar-pei but Peter had always found ridiculously adorable. It made him realize how glad he was that even with things the way they were, he was still comfortable enough with him to leave his mask off. Thank god for small favors, because not only was his face still as stunning as Peter had remembered, ever-shifting as it was, but it was so much easier to read him when there wasn’t a sheath of fabric in the way. Maybe it was selfish, but Peter liked to see that he wasn’t the only one struggling here. Wade may have slipped on that carefully constructed swagger that he was so prone to falling back on, but Peter knew him better, could see it in his eyes, but was polite enough to keep it to himself. Well, polite, or maybe just not ready for the conversation that would inevitably follow pointing it out.

Whether the stillness got to Wade, or he was doing it for Pete’s sake (hah, he used to make that joke a lot and thought he was hilarious every damn time; Peter would never admit that he almost kinda liked it), but he stood up, tapped Peter lightly on the chest with the back of his hand and stretched, saying, “C’mon, let’s get some grub,” before heading into the kitchen. Internally, Peter flinched at the contact and wondered if Wade had done it for Pete’s benefit or his own. Externally, he groaned in agreement, a maybe slightly okay definitely exaggerated ‘fuck yes’ in agreement that made Wade pause almost imperceptibly on his way to the kitchen, Peter’s stomach grumbling as if for emphasis as he smirked to himself and followed close behind.

The fridge was well-stocked for once, and honestly this was probably the most livable Wade’s apartment had been since the beginning, when he’d tried to make a good impression on him, claiming something about how ‘Spidey had always been his hero and holy fuck if this hanging out was going to be a regular thing maybe he should make a little bit of effort,’ and it widened Peter’s smirk just a bit. Wade’s head was buried in the refrigerator, humming something unrecognizable and shimmying his hips, once in a while tossing out a clipped remark to what (or who? Peter still wasn’t quite sure how that worked) he sometimes affectionately, sometimes not-so-affectionately referred to as “yellow and white.” Finally, fucking finally because even with their brief bits of banter there was not much for Peter to look at besides that waggling ass and that was really not helping his situation thanks, Wade pulled his head from the fridge. He swung the door shut with a foot, his arms full of bottles of beer and what looked like the ingredients for some sort of stir fry.

“Hope you’re in the mood for teriyaki, Petey, cos that’s about all I got right now. Okay, no, it’s not, but it’s all I feel like making cos I’m really hungry and impatient and let’s be honest, eating the food is ten million times better than actually having to make it.” He was rambling on, and Peter couldn’t help but laugh as he perched himself on the counter.

“I’ll eat anything, as long as I don’t have to make it,” he joked back, grinning and flipping a piece of hair away from his forehead. Wade just shot him a look and waved a hand, nodding his head to get him to scootch over on the counter and nearly dropping his armful in the process. Peter complied, but god that had been close. It felt too right, too much like before, and he had almost dipped in to plant a soft kiss on Wade’s cheek before sliding over, sucking in an almost-too-harsh breath and stiffening in the process. Thank god Wade was too busy sorting out the ingredients prepping the stove, tossing Peter a beer, to notice. Actually, yeah, thank god for beer, too. He caught it easily, not enough condensation on the glass yet to make it too slick for even his sticky grip, and took a long swig. Even just the taste of it soothed his nerves a little bit, and he sighed as he felt it trickle through him, clanking the bottle gently on the counter, resisting the urge to down it all in one long gulp.

He switched to tea, though, with much protest from Wade, once the food was done because regardless of what Wade Weirdo Wilson may have thought, beer does not in fact go so well with teriyaki. Even with his mouth full, he was still going on and on and on, but it was much harder for Peter to actually tell what he was saying. A supportive nod here, a knowledgeable ‘uh huh’ there, and it didn’t really seem to make a difference. Dinner was delicious, though, and it took his mind off of things for a while because he could just eat and zone out on the really shitty comedy flick Wade had popped on in the background and try to make out what he was saying instead of having to think.

With food finished and plates were pushed to the edge of the coffee table, a deep, satisfied rumble rolled through Wade’s chest as he slouched back against the sofa, one leg slung over the armrest. Peter nestled himself in closer than before; not quite touching, not leaning into him, but god did it make the temptation that much more fierce. They stayed like that for a while, making fun of the movie and finally falling into easy conversation, Peter flicking pieces of the popcorn that they had made at some point whenever Wade would make a particularly crude or rude remark. At some point Peter had found the courage to duck to the side and swing his legs over Wade’s lap, and who knew butterflies could sting as they floated through him, fluttering faster when a rough hand found its place on his ankle, tentatively at first but resting heavily when he didn’t pull away. It was unnerving at first but fuck, it felt so much better than the way things had been, and he let it happen, stayed there until he looked at the time.

It was late, he should go, and he knew that, sliding his leg away from Wade’s grip, letting off something like a cross between resigned sigh and pained whimper as he rushed to his feet, stretched his arms over his head. “Damn, didn’t realize the time..” he muttered, tugging the hem of his shirt back down from where it had ridden up with his stretch. “Wade, I should-”

“You should stay.”

He blinked stupidly for a minute, hands still balled in the bottom of his shirt, searching Wade’s unwavering face and finding nothing but the dead truth and- not begging, not quite, he was too proud for that except under ahm.. certain circumstances, but something so close Peter was almost sure he could feel his heart tearing in two. “Okay,” he agreed before he even knew what he was saying, and he wanted to take it back but god, the way Wade’s face lit up like that was all that mattered, he couldn’t. He couldn’t take that look again and oh jesus what was he doing?

Wade bounced up off the couch, grin plastered wide on his face, and dragged him into the bedroom. “Don’t worry, Spidey- Pete, Peter, Petey babe-” and it stung because they both knew what they were, but he could never refrain from stupid pet names, even when they’d first met, “-it’s all good, I still got some of your shit from way back when.. well, from before. Never got the chance to get it back to ya what with all that happened, but looks like it came in handy, huh?” He was digging through a night stand, disheveling the drawers as he threw some grey sweats and a faded Borderlands t-shirt at Peter.

“O-oh, um, thanks,” he said, sort of distracted by how much the shirt smelled like Wade as he plucked it from where it had landed on his shoulder. By the time he looked back up, Wade’s shirt was already gliding over his head, and he felt his face flush hot. “I think I’ll just- um- be right back,” he stammered, hurrying into the attached bathroom and leaning against the door once he had closed it behind him. He breathed out a long, heavy sigh, pressed the shirt to his face and inhaled deeply, choking out a sound full of everything that was buried in his chest. His eyes were heavy, weighed down with sleep and the urge to sob in this stupid small bathroom until his throat was raw and he couldn’t feel and maybe that would help him get a fucking grip. But it wouldn’t, he knew that, so instead he sucked in a long, shaky breath and slowly switched his jeans and sweater to the clothes that Wade had provided.

When he had finished changing, clothes folded neatly and set in a pile outside the bathroom door, and stepped back into the bedroom, Wade was already under the covers, his hand bouncing as he pat the mattress. “C’mon in, Pete, the water’s fine,” he said with that infuriating smile on his face, barely visible in the dull glow of ambient light spilling in from outside. Peter gave a weak chuckle, his entire body aching with bad decisions and sadness and longing. As he crawled into his spot on the bed, Wade pulled the covers over him and clapped a hand on his shoulder, wishing him good night.

The rest of the night passed slowly, so slowly, but Wade had been surprisingly restrained. Other than when he’d first climbed into bed, he had not touched him again, and drifted to sleep soon afterwards, snoring softly with his face buried in the pillow. Peter could tune that out, like all the other things that had become so routine in the time they were together. That was not what kept him awake, staring at the ceiling and glancing at the bedside clock every few minutes, thinking that an hour must have passed, or two, or three. Wade shifted and Peter thought he might have woken up, but after scratching at his side for a few moments he was out again quick, questionable whether he’d actually been awake at all.

4:00. It was 4:00 in the morning and Peter couldn’t fucking do this. He hadn’t slept for even a second, and his eyes roved over the form beside him, and he almost couldn’t go through with it. Almost. But he did, he had to, he couldn’t take this anymore. He slid silently from the bed, gathered his things as quietly as he could and slipped out the window.

The cold air on his face as he headed for his own apartment sobered him from his sleep-drunk stupor, and finally it set in. Oh god, what was he doing? What the fuck was he doing? His breathing picked up, shallow and quick, and not just from the cold. The pressure in his chest was thick, like a thumb grinding down into a fresh bruise, and he quickened his pace. He needed to get home; he needed to get into bed, his own bed, and lie there under the covers, his covers, and hate himself for a while, because this? This was low. All of those times that Wade had done this to him, all the times he’d woken up to an empty bed when a warm body should’ve been beside him, when things between them were still new and tentative and frightening and on the edge of something wonderful- when things had been like they were now, but without all of the history and the agony and the trying to mend. He knew what it was like, how it felt to be disappointed and distraught and betrayed like that, so how could he do it to Wade? He couldn’t bring himself to go back, couldn’t face Wade right now and sure as hell couldn’t face himself, and he needed a break. From everything and everyone, but most of all himself.

He dragged himself up the stairs to his apartment, letting his things fall to the floor as he shut the door behind him and ghosted through the living room. He shed his clothes on the way to the bathroom, littering his hallway with them before he turned on the water, steam drifting from the spray, and sat beneath it with his head resting on his knees. The sun was coming up by the time he finally crawled into bed, still wet and naked and utterly defeated. He tugged the blankets over his head and finally, broken and beaten and sore and so fucking exhausted, he sank into a heavy, fitful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title and summary from "backseat serenade" by all time low

**Author's Note:**

>  **note** ; this will have a rating of explicit eventually, but i'm avoiding slapping the rating on until something that actually warrants the rating occurs in order to prevent spoilers and misguiding potential readers. i'll be sure to add the proper tags as the story evolves, and provide a recap after any chapters that would count as "explicit" for people who aren't comfortable reading that sort of thing!


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